Redeeming The Stare

Yesterday morning I met Joseph. 

He was loitering outside a coffee shop near where I live.  I noticed him as I drove by on my way to the grocery store.  I noticed him because… 

Hmmm, how shall I say this?

Well, Joseph was the kind of guy you do a double take with, but not because he’s beautiful.

Did that work?  Maybe this…

Joseph was one of those people our parents taught us not to stare at – not to notice, not to pay any attention to what so ever – so they don’t feel uncomfortable; like outcasts or something. 

                Did that work?

I’ve been reading the gospels more.  Mostly I’ve been reading in Luke.  But I bounce into Matthew, Mark, and John to read parallel accounts or fill-in gaps in the timeline.  And I have to tell you, the more I read, the more of a hunch I’m getting.  It’s a hunch about Jesus.  Ready for it?

I think Jesus stared.

Matthew 8 and 9 are loaded with miracles Jesus did. 

He gave sight to people who couldn’t see and a voice to a guy who couldn’t talk. 

He healed a leper, a bleeding woman and two different paralytics. 

He cast out demons, calmed a storm, and raised a little girl from the dead.

He even cured Peter’s mother-in-law from the flu. 

“[He] went throughout all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction.”  ~ Matt. 9:35

And my hunch is Jesus stared at every one of them.  My hunch is he took notice of them and paid attention.  My hunch is he made eye contact with them and kept it long enough to make things awkward; long enough to allow them to feel his kindness abound as healing took place and gospel was proclaimed. 

My hunch is he saw the crowds of people…

harassed and helpless

hurried and weak

stressed out and weary

tired and vulnerable

“like sheep without a shepherd”

…and he stared at them for a good long bit as compassion came to a rolling boil in His soul.  He saw beneath the surface, past the obvious ailments and ugly, into their souls where God’s image remained and he noticed what they were hoping for.  Then he turned to his disciples and told them to pray for people who will give them their hopes.

So I noticed Joseph as I drove by and somehow my “notice” turned into a Jesus stare.  Joseph was short and chubby.  His blonde hair was shaggy and dirty.  His eyes were blue and lazy.  One side of his face was longer than the other.  One of his arms was shorter than the other.  And he leaned left as he limped and lumbered along.  He looked lost.    

I parked and prayed and paced quickly toward the stranger before I could come up with an excuse not to.  Now he looked nervous, like he didn’t do anything wrong but thought I thought he did.  Or maybe it was the look of a lonely child being noticed by another child on the playground. 

I tried to warm the moment with a smile and a greeting…

“Good morning.  Wanna get a coffee?”

He peaked up at me from beneath his broad brow.

                “I was hoping for diet Pepsi, but I don’t want them to think I beg.”

His words were simple and pure, lisped and slurred together in a handicapped tone.  His eyes darted quickly back to the ground.  I put my hand on his shoulder and invited him to come with me to the grocery store.   

As we walked, we talked.  I told him my name.  He told me his.  We shook hands.  He picked out the diet Pepsi he was hoping for and we checked out.  Maria, the checker, herself having quite the story, knew what was up.  She smiled her life-giving smile.  Moments later, he and the soda he’d hoped for were headed to town on the bus. 

I remember the lesson on not staring.  You probably do too.  It was well meaning, but ill produced.  Forcing the prohibitions of an adult conscience onto the pure curiosity of a youthful conscience without explanation bore in many of us an aversion to even noticing those who hope for nothing more than to be noticed once in a while. 

Now, as an adult, I find I have to beat back the pining to look away in an effort to stop and take a good long look at someone; take a Jesus stare, and allow His compassion to boil up in me.  I find it takes dire intention to stare long enough to see beneath the surface, past the obvious ailments and ugly, into people’s souls where God’s image remains and notice what they might be hoping for.  But what I learned yesterday with Joseph is the dire intention is well worth it. 

I guess my point, if there is one – maybe better would be my encouragement – for you would be to take a look around you today.  Notice anyone?  Notice anyone.  Redeem the stare.